Rebellions
by Paige Darke
Summary: Angels, demons, apocalypses (or would that be apocalypsi?)...just the usual between Heaven and Hell...Add Crowley, Aziraphale, some renegade angels, a Prince of Hell, and the Angel of Judgement, and you have one heck of a party.
1. Revolts, Rebellions, And Attacks

Sometimes, Aziraphale questions the grand, Ineffable Plan. He doesn't think Crowley would believe him if he heard this, but he does. Sometimes, he even goes so far as to think that, just maybe, God was wrong.

(In Aziraphale's defense, this was usually after a great deal of wine and in Crowley's presence.)

Little does Aziraphale know, he's not the only one.

It was so like Damien to choose a bar as a meeting place. When the fates of Heaven and Hell were to be discussed by two of said domains highest ups (or lowest ups, depending on your point of view), Damien chose a bar to meet in.

It was so typical.

It wasn't even a very demonic bar. Weren't you supposed to meet demons in demonic places?

Of course, Damien had never been typical. He was, in fact, very strange. And it wasn't like he'd always been a demon. Once, a very long time ago, he'd been an angel. Just like her. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, they were twins. At least, they'd been created at the same time.

But even family can end up on opposites sides in a conflict. Even Heavenly families.

Kayleena spotted her brother in a booth in the back and made her ways towards him, turning down five offers of drinks, two of dinner, and one far less discreet offer that ended in with a solid left to said offerer's solar plexus.

Damien watched that scene unfold with an amused expression, the expression of a demon who has done some tempting and seen excellent results. Or at least very amusing ones.

Damien did not, precisely, look like a demon. No more than Kayleena, as it were, looked like an angel. Kayleena looked like goodness and light and all things sweet and holy. Unless she had a flaming sword in her hands, in which case she looked like a really brassed off angel with an impressive wingspan and murderous intent.Her hair was long, but most angels still wore their hair long.She was tall, but most angels topped six feet. God liked his minions impressive. Her face was like the faces you saw in sculptures in the ancient temples. Slightly pointy, but smooth, beautiful, and serene. Hell, half the time she even wore white. Today, she was wearing a rather cute dress and a gauzy blouse, entirely in white, although a little shorter than Damien thought God would have liked it.

Damien did, however, have the appearance of being slightly demonic. He had a lean face, thick black hair always in his eyes, although that was done quite on purpose. Usually, however, he wore shades. His eyes tended to startle the humans. He was tall, lean, and rather handsome. It was the eyes, however, the eyes that were the most disturbing. They were a brilliant, dark, impossible green, with odd slitted pupils and the impression that he knew all your sins and would not hesitate to use them against you.

(For the most part, this was true. Of course, he was a demon.)

Kayleena - which was not, of course, her real name - often accused him of lacking moral fiber. His usual response was an eye roll and a "Duh." Spoken in a truly sarcastic tone of voice.

These were usually official meetings, half-hearted attempts at bridging the gap between Heaven and Hell. Mostly, they got extremely innebriated and debated all manner of things.

Kayleena slid into the seat across from his, rolling her shoulder to adjust the sword he knew she was wearing. It was invisible, of course. Even in this modern day and age, people got testy if you carried a sword in public. Of course, ever since the buggered Apocalypse, God was insisting his angels carry them. Just in case the Antichrist got them, or something. It was all really rather ridiculous in Damien's humble opinion. The Antichrist was sixteen, for fuck's sake. He was interested in girls and sex, probably, not incurring the wrath of God. Damien had been a Fallen Angel for millenia, and HE did not want to incur the wrath of God.

"How like you, Damien," she said drily. "This place is a dive."

He shrugged and tossed back another long drink of whiskey. "How angelic, Loki," he said mockingly, using the name that had been abandoned with her old job. "To look down on the amusements of the humans."

She stiffened in her seat. "I don't use that name anymore," she said coldly.

Damien swore at her. "You're still the same bloody angel," he snapped. "You still carry a great bloody sword, you still bow to God's every little whim, you're still an Angel of Judgement, and you're still a fence-sitting pain in my ass. Therefore, you must still be Loki. Or Gabriel in drag."

Kayleena - or Loki, if you prefer her ancient name - gave a groan and slumped theatrically in her seat. "Sh, don't say that. Knowing my luck, he'd hear you. And you KNOW what he's like."

Damien nodded slowly, passing the bottle. Gabriel - the Metatron was his working name, the Voice of God - did NOT have a sense of humor. At all. And when someone impugned his dignity, he tended to whine. Or, as Damien liked to say, he went sobbing to his Daddy-shaped Creator. Not that God didn't know already, of course, but He was willing to punish someone every once in a while, just to make him stop whining.

Loki brushed her hair behind her shoulders. "What's this all about, Damien?" she asked. "You made it sound urgent."

Damien took another long pull of the bottle, which should have been empty long ago, then sat up straight and fixed his shades, taking on the mantle of Official Representative of Hell. "I have a message from Lucifer, the Morningstar, King of Hell, Father of Lies, Prince of Darkness, and Ruler of the Void."

Loki manifested a bottle of tequila. "Amazing how he thinks his titles will impress us," she murmured.

Damien ignored this. "The message is as follows: The King of Hell seeks to conceive another child with a human to better understand their kind. Since the originally Antichrist/Armagedon thing was such a fiasco, he seeks to understand the mortals. And he kindly requests the God keep his nose out of it, thank you."

Loki stared at him, eyes huge. Then she downed her tequila. And then most of his whiskey, too.

"I. Don't. Get. It," Loki snarled, beating her head on the dirty table in time with her words. "Doesn't he understand what that entails?"

Damien shrugged. He was watching the ceiling fan with the deep and thoughtless concentration of the extremely pissed. "Don't know," he said, like he didn't care. He probably didn't.

After all, he wasn't like most other demons. He was a Prince of Hell, second in the Dark Heirarchy only to Beelzebub, the Voice of Satan, and Lucifer himself. He had been Lucifer's right hand during the Rebellion.

But, then, the Morningstar had made it sound so easy, hadn't he? Made it sound like Heaven was already in the bag, metaphorically speaking. Made it sound like all they had to do was wave their fiery swords about a bit and look rather threatening, and then the Hosts of Heaven would simply give in and hand over the key to the Pearly Gates.

Well, they didn't call him the Father of Lies for nothing, Damien reflected bitterly, attempting to think his whiskey bottle full again. It was a lot harder than it should have been. He was too drunk to remember the whats of whiskey. He slammed the bottle down. "Fuck this," he muttered, flopping back in his chair. "I'm too pissed to drink any more."

Loki grabbed his bottle and downed it, then choked. "This isn't whiskey," she gasped, then doubled over coughing. "What the f - heck is that?"

Damien shrugged. "Don't know. Wasn't crazy enough to drink it."

Loki sighed and leaned back in her chair, forgoing the breathing process entirely. If the humans in the little Mexican dive had been paying attention, they would have noticed that the two people-shaped creatures in the corner weren't doing many human things. For one, they hadn't ordered a drink since they'd sat down, but they hadn't stopped drinking. For another, every once in a while you would catch the wavery, vague impression of great wings that seem to have sprouted from their shoulder-blades. A bright glow around the woman-shaped creature's head. Vague impressions of extreme good and absolute evil.

All right, maybe not the last ones. Damien was more concentrated wickedness than absolute evil, and Loki was good by default. She was an angel. The Angel of Judgement, right up there with God. After all, God was a very busy Person. You couldn't expect Him to Judge every soul that died. Which is why it was left up to her to Judge most of them. God just got the special cases these days.

How she missed the good old days.

Loki straightened in her chair, making a concentrated effort to sober up. Since angels have much stronger willpower than the average human, this was a successful venture. "I have to report this," she said grimly, and stood.

Damien staggered to his feet across from her, the alcohol leaving his system as quickly as he could make it go. It's harder to concentrate when you're drunk, after all. Even for a Prince of Hell.

"Let's go report the meeting a success, so I can listen to a few more of Lucifer's nutter schemes," he said.

Loki grimaced. "And then I can listen to the Metatron whine for a while."

He smirked at her and retrieved his glasses from the table. "Cheers."

Damien stood, gaping at his Lord with wide eyes. "Her? Why her?"

Lucifer folded his arms over his chest and glared like a petulant child. "She's perfect. What in the name of - of SOMETHING is wrong with her?"

The Prince of Hell turned to gape at the woman - GIRL - his Lord had chosen. He had remembered to scrape his jaw off the floor - figuratively speaking - so he wasn't frightening her with bloody great fangs. She was a slight girl, short and thin, with long, waving blonde hair and enormous eyes that peered out at life from behind glasses thicker than was probably healthy. She wore long skirt and a plain pink - PINK - blouse, and a little gold crucifix around her neck. Not inverted, or anything. Just a plain gold crucifix.

And there was a Bible in her purse.

And so Damien did one of the things that had gotten him kicked out of Heaven. He opened his mouth and said exactly what he was thinking. "Are you BROKEN?"

Lucifer growled at him. "Are you forgetting to whom you are speaking, Damien?"

"No, that's why I was asking," he snapped back. He pulled off his shades and rubbed his eyes. "Lord, she's a bloody Born Again. Granted, her parents are as loyal as they come - as your human followers come, anyway - but she's so Christian it hurts to LOOK at her."

"It wasn't OUR idea, Lord," said the woman on the floor, who happened to be the girl's mother.

"We raised her the proper way, Lord," said the man on the floor, who happened to be the girl's father.

Damien groaned.

Satanists were so embarrassing. If he ever found out whose idea they were, he was going to hurt them. Lots. For EONS.

"Look, whoever you are - " she ignored her mother's gasp - "I don't want to deal with this right now. I have midterms coming up, and I have to study." She turned to the door, only to find it blocked by two vaguely man-shaped creatures who looked like big, hairy maggots. She screamed.

She was easily ignored. They were used to the screams of the damned. One shrieking college student was nothing compared to that.

"Are you set on this one, then?" Damien asked, sounding resigned. He already knew the answer. The girl let out another shriek. He slipped his glasses back on, pulled out a cigarette and touched his finger to the tip of it. It lit instantly. One advantage of Hellfire.

Lucifer nodded firmly. "I wish to understand them, Damien," He said. He ignored his right hand's groan of protest. "How better to understand them than with one of their own?"

Damien started looking for a blunt object. For himself.

The girl got control over her screaming and spun to face the Prince of Darkness. "I don't WANT to be the mother of the Antichrist!"

"Well, that's good," Damien said. "Since we already HAVE one of those." A flat surface would work, too. Anything.

Lucifer let out a rather frightening snarl. That was, it was frightening if you hadn't seen it almost every day for the past six thousand years. Needless to say, Damien was used to it. He was currently contemplating the incapacitating properties of a wall.

"That child is no concern of ours," Lucifer snapped.

"Right," Damien muttered. The wall was mostly plaster. His head would probably go right through. And then he'd have to fix it.

So the wall was out.

"And how do I know you're demons anyways?" the girl demanded, obviously grasping at straws. Her parents were still prostrate on the floor.

Lucifer gaped at her. Damien's eyebrows appeared above his glasses. There was a moment of silence.

"What about Lenny and Squiggy back there?" he asked, gesturing at the two guards at the door.

She glanced at them and grimaced in distast. "Could be costumes," she said weakly.

Both guards looked insulted. Well, as insulted as a giant maggot CAN look.

Lucifer groaned, then swore in a language dead for about four thousand years. "Damien, show her."

"Me? Why me?"

Lucifer glared. Damien coughed. "Right. I'll get right on it, Lord."

He started unbuttoning his shirt.

"You have to be naked?" the girl demanded.

Damien glared at her. "Look, Princess, future mother to the hosts of Hell you may be, but I am NOT ruining a perfectly nice coat because you have belief issues, ok?" He shrugged out of coat and shirt, tossed his glasses on the pile, closes his strange eyes, and concentrated.

The outer feathers of his great blackened wings nearly touched the walls of the room, and it wasn't that small of a room. The girl just stared.

He had great blackened wings. Not true black, but a mixture of black, grey, and white. It was reminiscent of the different shades of smoke. Which is perfectly understandable, considering that was what had caused the staining of his wings. His eyes glowed red in his natural form, the green covered by a demonic, molten lava glow. His hair was longer, and wild, like he hadn't actually combed it in a while. It gave the vague impression of being afraid, like it knew that if it didn't do what it was told, it would be shaved off, and was threatened with this fate often. And there, just below his hairline, were two small black horns.

The girl approached him slowly. This was not so much out of fear as out of the fact that she was admiring his muscular chest and broad shoulders. She stopped in front of him, and he looked at her calmly. Although even a calm look out of red eyes that glow like the fires of Hell - literally - is very disconcerting. She reached up and poked his horns. "They're cute!"

He slapped her hands away with hands that ended in long black talons. "Stop that!" he snapped, and tried to comb his hair over the horns. "They're EMBARRASSING."

The door guards made snuffling sounds almost, but not entirely, completely unlike laughter. A glare from Damien silenced them. Unfortunately, it didn't have the same effect on Lucifer, who was snickering.

He folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the way the girl watched the muscles in his arms flex. She seemed surprised by the fact that he HAD muscle. Had she expected that the wings opereated on a thought and a prayer?

The girl started to tremble. Then to shake. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she hit the carpet.

Damien materialized another cigarette, wondering vaguely where his other one had went.

"Well," Lucifer said with a kind of optimism that made Damien's teeth hurt. "That went well."

Damien groaned. That wall was looking very inviting, after all.

The park was quiet. Of course, it was two o'clock in the morning. St. James Park was ALWAYS quiet at two AM.

Aziraphale threw bread to a few industrious night-ducks and wondered why Crowley had wanted to meet here so late. But the demon had sounded worried - almost frightened - and that worried the angel. Crowley NEVER sounded frightened. Aziraphale could remember exactly once when Crowley had sounded frightened in the last six thousand years, and that had been at the almost-Apocalypse. Of course, that had been when it appeared that Lucifer himself was going to rise from Hell and smite them both, so that was understandable, after all.

He wondered if Crowley had heard from his superiors. It had been almost two years, after all. It seemed that Heaven and Hell were pretending the whole embarrassing incident had never happened, and Aziraphale was quite all right with that.

He stood slowly, preparing to take a walk around the paths. Crowley would find him when he arrived. The beat of great wings stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly.

There, on the path in front of him, was a pair of angels. Nor were they trying particularly hard to hide what they were. In fact, they weren't trying at all. They wore the ornate golden armor of the Host, and they carried flaming swords similiar to the one Aziraphale had once had.

The frying pan of suspicion snuck up and smacked the angel in the back of the head.

He was in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble. These fellows did NOT look friendly. "Erm. Hello."

"Aziraphale, Angel of the East Gate," the lead angel said. "We have come to take you to task for your fornincations with the demon Crawly."

"Crowley," Aziraphale corrected automatically, and then the frying pan of realization smacked him on the side of the head. He was starting to get a headache. "Fornications?"

"Deny it all you want, Aziraphale," the strange angel snapped. "We know of how you have tasted the sins of the flesh with the demon."

Aziraphale just gaped for a moment. And then another moment. In fact, several moments passed. Finally, the other angel got impatient. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Aziraphale managed to rally. "Only that you are GROSSLY misinformed, my dear," he said loftily. He wondered briefly if that was a lie. Well, he and Crowley had certainly never done THAT. And he had never even CONSIDERED the demon in such a way. He grasped that thought by the throat, strangled it, and buried it in a shallow grave.

The other angel, the one who hadn't spoken yet, made a sound of disgust. A rather rude one. Aziraphale sniffed. "We should just kill him and get it over with."

It goes without saying that this statement rather worried Aziraphale. He hadn't done anything that was worth killing him over, had he? Usually they simply kicked the angel out of Heaven for such offenses. Not that there had been any such offenses since the Rebellion.

Both angels drew their swords. Aziraphale backed away and started looking around frantically. He could hold his own in a fight, more than, but he was unarmed, and they carried blessed swords. He was doomed.

The former Angel of the East Gate took a deep breath. He knew what those swords did to angelic flesh. He had done it himself, once upon a time. They wouldn't just destroy his mortal body. They would destroy his angelic one as well.

He straightened his shoulders and prepared for his fate. He would at least do himself the honor of going down fighting.

Never once did God cross his mind.

But Crowley did.

Anthony J. Crowley brought the Bentley to a screaming halt and jumped out of the car. He was LATE. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have bothered him. In fact, he would have just went home and amused himself with the thought of his angel waiting alone in the park.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. HIS angel? Where the hol - unholy hel - heav - MANCHESTER had that thought come from?

So Crowley did what he usually did to thoughts that he didn't want to contemplate. He beat it about the head with a blunt object and kicked it out one ear. (The left one, to be exact.) He'd been having to do that alot, lately. Especially about Aziraphale. The thought would be back. And next time it would probably bring friends.

He raked both hands through his hair and headed for the duck pond. Fuck it. If he didn't want to think about it, he wouldn't and that was that. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

The sounds of a struggle interrupted his internal battle with his own head. Ordinarily, he would have ignored it, and this was what he set out to do this time. But a cry of pain reached his ears, a very familiar voice crying out in pain, and he couldn't ignore it.

Aziraphale.

Crowley started to run.

The fact that Crowley ignored his lower demonic impulses for the first time in his entire existence saved the angel's life. As it were.

There were two of them, and they were angels. Great, feathery white wings and ornate gold armor gave THAT away. Well, that and the great flaming swords, which they were using on Aziraphale.

It was about then that Crowley lost control over his human form. There was the sound of tearing cloth as his wings unfurled. His hands became taloned, and clenched into fists. Long, curving fangs became visible as his lips curled back in a snarl. A pattern of scales appeared on his skin, over his shoulders and chest as the tattered remnants of his shirt and jacket fell away. "Two againssst one isssn't fair, you know," he hissed, flicking his forked tongue out to taste the air.

Fear. Angelic fear was a wonderful thing. Delicious.

One of the angels spun to face him, letting Aziraphale's battered form fall to the ground with a nasty sounding thump. Crowley hissed. He spread his wings and took to the air easily. The two angels followed. That was good. Get them away from Aziraphale. Of course, it might have been helpful to have planned beyond that point, but he hadn't really had time.

Luckily, the lack of a proper spine came in handy, even when flying. He could do things in the air that even angels couldn't. He sent a brief mental thanks to Lucifer for making him a snake. Dead useful, that was. Sometimes.

Of course, all the evasive manuevers meant a lot of time spent in tight spots waiting for one of the strangers to make a mistake.

He was hoping they were idiots. It would make this so much easier.

They weren't idiots. But they were impatient, and that could be used to his advantage. One of them let out a war cry, brought up his sword, and dove straight at the demon. Crowley smiled, baring his fangs. "Keep coming, little angel." It was hard to hiss words with no silibant sounds, but he managed, anyway.

At the last moment, Crowley brought himself up to meet the angel in midair, bringing them together with a crash. He wrapped himself around the angel's upper body, giving himself a good angle at the neck. He opened his mouth, impossibly wide, and his fangs grew even longer, now apparently dripping with venom. His head reared back, and he sank those fanks into the angel's spine. The angel let out a shriek that set off the animals for miles around and plummeted for the ground.

Crowley pulled away and beat his wings to keep in the air. The other angel let out a cry and charged, holding his sword in a more competent way than the other one had. Crowley swore. NOW he was in trouble.

The angel brought up his sword, across his body so Crowley couldn't do to him what he'd done to the other one. Crowley twisted out of the way at the last moment, barely avoiding the blessed blade, hoping to use the stranger's momentum against him. But the angel twisted in the air, almost as agile as Crowley himself.

"Have you no shame, demon?" he demanded.

Crowley pretended to think about this for a moment, tapping one talon against a fang. "Hmm. No."

The angel's eyes narrowed. "You have already damned him."

Crowley stared at him for a moment, yellow eyes wide behind his shades. "What the hell do you mean, damned? Aziraphale's not Fallen."

The stranger let out a long, derisive laugh. "Did you not know, demon? Your...EXPLOITS have brought about his death. Tempting an angel, all in a day's work for you, I'm sure." He suddenly lashed out with his blade. Crowley dove to avoid it. "You have doomed him with your own flesh!"

Crowley sputtered for a moment, nearly fallling out of the air before righting himself. "What the bloody FUCK are you talking about? You're not making any sense!" Then his eyes went even wider, and he gaped at the angel, his mouth hanging open, baring his fangs. "You're NUTS."

The angel swept out with his sword again, and THAT required some tricky last nanosecond manuvering on Crowley's part. Then he just kind of went back to hanging in midair and gaping at the stranger.

The angel looked uncomfortable. "Do you HAVE to do that?" he snapped, making another thrust with his sword. "You look like an asphyxiating garter snake!"

Crowley hissed, and was about to say something cutting and emotionally scarring about looking like a giant fairy when a decidedly sweet and angelic voice cut into the fray. "Samael!"

The angel - Samael was Crowley's guess - froze, and managed to look supremely guilty. Crowley felt it was safe for a moment to look around at who was going to kill him now.

Hovering in the air about forty feet above their little aerial battle was a female angel. Definitely an angel. The giant white wings were a definite hint. Another hint was the flaming sword. The glowing golden nimbus around her head wasn't so much a hint as an anvil.

The clothes were a bit strange, but Crowley supposed even angels had a right to dress how they wanted. Of course, he didn't think pale blue halter tops with a design of snowflakes, blue jeans, and tan boots with hells were QUITE was God had in mind.

A second later, the other angel registered. Not his friend Samael of the righteousness, but the one with the newcomer. This one looked like a kid. He had short blond hair and the kind of fresh-scrubbed face that you saw on kids on after school programs. He held his sword like he didn't quite know what to do with it.

Crowley glanced back and forth between his self-righteous friend and the two newcomers. Samael looked terrifed.

The frying pan of memory smacked him in the face. "Loki," he hissed.

The Angel of Judgement glanced at him, then smiled radiantly. "Hello, Camael."

Crowley just gaped at her. It had been a very long time since he'd heard his angelic name used so casually. "Er. Hi."

Crowley went back to peering intently between Loki and Samael. The other angel with Loki - the one who looked about twelve - was completely forgotten. And apparently, neither the kid nor Crowley were registering on Loki's personal radar. "You're to be taken before God Himself, Samael," she said, managing to sound as ominous as an angel can. Which is pretty freaking ominous, Crowley noticed. Aziraphale never sounded that scary.

Samael somehow managed to look her in the eye. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"Nothing WRONG?" Crowley shouted, losing his temper - what was left of it - completely. He gestured at where Aziraphale lay bleeding on the path. "Nothing WRONG! What has Aziraphale done? What sins has he committed that required - that required THIS!"

Loki dove down next to him and placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Calm yourself, Crowley," she murmured. "You have committed many sins, Samael. You have attacked angels who have done nothing. You have went against God's commands. What have you to say for yourself, Samael?"

Samael used his sword to point at Aziraphale's form. Crowley hissed at him. "That angel - as undeserving as he is of that name - has lain with a DEMON!"

"Oh for heav - for he - for bleeding F -" The hand on his arm clamped down, and Crowley bit off the word. "He hasss bloody well not," he hissed instead.

Loki sighed and rubbed her temples. She sheathed the blade down her back and planted her hands on her hips. The great fluttering feathery wings rather ruined the image of authority, but you can't have everything. "Go home, Samael."

He vanished in a flash of light.

Crowley was already on the ground. With a gentleness that surprised himself, he gathered Aziraphale's upper body into his lap, cradling the angel's head in one hand. The fine golden hair was matted with blood. Crowley stroked the hair back from the pale face, and watched Aziraphale's eyes flutter open. He heard Loki and the other angel land nearby, but he resolutely ignore them.

Aziraphale raised one hand and clumsily tried to pull of the demon's sunglasses. "I think I'm dying," he said, almost absently.

Crowley pulled off the shades himself and narrowed his yellow eyes. "You're not dying, angel. I won't allow it."

"Neither will I," Loki said dryly, kneeling on Aziraphale's other side. Aziraphale didn't even look at her. He stroked a hand over the side of Crowley's face and smiled slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, and lost conciousness.

TBC...


	2. Tequila And Discussions of Falls

Aziraphale's bookshop was more crowded than Crowley ever remembered seeing it. Of course, seeing as how the angel usually scared off all of his potential customers, this was not surprising. And when there were customers, they usually weren't one of Heaven's lackeys and another denizen of Heaven - this one MUCH higher up.

The young angel's name was Sarelil. He was the youngest angel Heaven had to offer. He seemed rather embarrassed by this, like it was his fault God hadn't got around to creating him for a while.

Crowley was pacing, listening intently to Loki's account of the events that had led to the attack on Aziraphale. Occasionally, he would hiss. He had not bothered to winch in his wings. Or put on his sunglasses. Sarelil jumped whenever a feather brushed him or those yellow eyes glanced in his general direction.

Loki did not look up from her work. Not at Sarelil's jumps or Crowley's hisses. Patching an angel back together was not work you needed to be distracted during. Her tale of events was told in a flat voice. "There's another rebellion brewing, and nobody knows what the hell to do about it" was the general gist of it.

"You should contact your superiors," she told him. She was in the middle of patching up one of Aziraphale's wings. Crowley was determinedly looking in the other direction. This was not because he didn't like to see Aziraphale in pain. It had nothing to do with that. He didn't like the sight of blood.

Yeah. That was it.

Right.

"Why?" he asked, not turning around.

There was a pause. He heard the ruffling of feathers. "Sarelil, would you mind contacting the office and asking if anything else has happened?"

Sarelil bowed and disappeared.

Loki sighed and ran a tired hand over her eyes. There were more rustling noises. Crowley kept his eyes firmly fixed on the bookshelf in front of him. "You can turn around, Crowley."

The demon risked a glance over his shoulder. Aziraphale was still unconcious, on his belly. But he was covered to the neck with a blanket, and he seemed to be comfortable. Crowley felt a great weight lift from himself.

After all, he hurriedly assured himself, if the angel wasn't around, who would he get drunk with? He didn't really know any one else.

That was it. No, really.

Crowley tore his eyes away from Aziraphale's form to look Loki in the eye. It was better than looking at the angel, anyway. "What?" he snapped, noting the look in the female's eyes.

Loki smiled slightly, stroking Aziraphale's hair. Crowley resisted the urge to growl at the gesture. She had every right to touch him, he told himself firmly. She's one of his kind. "I need you to contact your own superiors, Camael."

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

Just because she'd healed the angel didn't mean he had to like her.

Loki sighed and rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. "We've been getting disquieting rumors out of Hell," she said. "Rumors of a revolt."

Crowley gaped. "They wouldn't DARE."

A grim smile was his only answer. "Are you saying that the demons of Hell are far too loyal?"

"No, I'm saying they'd have to be BEYOND cracked to even try it!" He raked both hands through his hair, making it stand on end. "And just what the hell gave you that idea, anyway?"

She shrugged. The gesture irritated Crowley. How an angel could make the simplest gesture look so graceful just grated on his already frail nerves. "I have contacts in Hell, too, you know," she said drily. "Heaven and Hell have started arranging meetings between representatives since Almostageddon. It's been myself and a Prince of Hell."

Crowley winced. He never enjoyed contacting his superiors, and he enjoyed it even less when he had to go that high up. Or low down, as the case may be. "Which one?"

"Damien," she answered easily, and kissed Aziraphale's cheek before leaving him to his rest.

Crowley gaped, then let out a groan of despair that would have fit right in down in the lower circles of Hell. Damien was, in Crowley's opinion, the worst of the lot. He was completely nutters, not giving a damn about anything, including himself. He was destructive, lunatic, and in charge of most of Hell. He was also, on the main, not a very pleasant guy to be around, especially if he didn't like you. And since he didn't like much of anyone, it was generally considered in the best interest of your health and all of your limbs to avoid him if at all possible.

Which Crowley did. He LIKED all his parts. The last time he'd had a run-in with that particular member of Hell's Dark Heirarchy, the Prince had threatened to rip his wings off. Crowley had believed him. Damien was one of the main reasons Crowley never went home. The only person who could control Damien was Lucifer himself, and even HE didn't have that tight a grip on the maniac's leash.

Crowley buried his face in his hands. "Oh, you have got to be kidding," he muttered.

Loki sighed. "Please, Crowley. What have you got to be afraid of?"

Crowley pulled his wings around him and started petting them gently. Loki watched this strange behaviour with a worried look. "It's ok," Crowley murmured into his feathers. "I won't let him take you away."

Loki just stared. Really, this one was TOO strange.

111

"No, no, no," Crowley argued a few hours later. "And no. I am not contacting him. He's a lunatic. He told me if I ever spoke to him again, he'd rip my wings off. I LIKE my wings."

Well, that explained the part where he was petting his wings. Loki sighed, and calmly began juggling fruit from the bowl on Aziraphale's kitchen table. "Crowley, he won't hurt you."

"Wanna bet?" Crowley snapped back.

Suddenly, the fruit was back in the bowl. "Fine," she said finally, and pulled a small book out of her coat that seemed to be bound in human skin. That was because it was. Crowley knew what it was. What he didn't know was how the hell an ANGEL had gotten a hold of a book of demon summonings. Or WHY an angel would want one. Or where an angel got the power to summon a Prince of Hell. Most DEMONS didn't have the power to contact a Prince of Hell.

Loki flipped through it for a moment. Then she swore and stuffed it back in the pocket of her coat. The coat was white, Crowley noticed with disgust. Of course it was white, a nice, clean, angelic white. She straightened in her chair, closed her eyes, and resumed her angelic form. Her wings and halo came back into view. A pair of sunglasses materialized out of Crowley's eyes. The halo was rather blinding. Loki took a deep breath and called out an angelic name.

Crowley swore. Then he swore again. He covered all of English, most of the widely spoken languages on Earth, and most dead languages, just for good measure.

He had to give her one thing. She had balls. Metaphorically speaking.

He knew the name. It was a name that hadn't been used since the Rebellion, when the angels had Fallen and taken their new names. No one had had the guts to use it since, because...well, because he was very, very scary.

There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke, not even a faint smell of brimstone. The next moment, however, Damien was standing in the middle of the room, a shrieking, kicking human girl slung over one shoulder. He was also in full demonic form. His hair was standing up on end, his feathers were distinctly ruffled. His eyes were glowing, he was naked from the waist up, and he looked distinctly pissed off.

Memories of the rules of Hell hit Crowley like a delivery truck. One with spiked tires. He hit the floor, nearly pressing his forehead to the dusty floorboards. Damien made a disgusted noise and dumped the shrieking female on the floor. "Get up, Crowley," he snapped. "You look like a dumbass."

The female made to kick him in the shin.

It wasn't so much that Damien moved as that he was just suddenly in a different spot. The girl's foot connected with the floor at full force, and she swore. Damien made a 'tsk' noise. "Shame on you. You pray with that mouth?"

"Oh, you have got to be fucking KIDDING me," Loki burst out suddenly.

Damien grinned at her. "Nope. This is her. The HUMAN my Lord chose. Great, isn't she?"

Loki groaned. Crowley, still in his prostrate position on the floor, heard the distinct sound of an angelic skull hitting the table. It was a very distinctive sound. He'd heard it plenty of times when Aziraphale passed out after having too much to drink.

The girl started to cry. Crowley raised his head. He and Damien both stared at the sobbing female; Crowley with disbelief, Damien with contempt.

Loki started to laugh. "Oh, this is TOO perfect," she managed, in between peals of laughter. "That's wonderful. Who knew Lucifer would go for a fundamentalist?"

Crowley groaned and thumped his head on the floorboard. "Wasn't one kid enough for him? It was good enough for GOD."

"Blasphemer," Damien said absently. He picked the girl up by the color of her pink blouse and dropped her into a chair at the table. "What is it, Loki? You made it sound urgent."

Loki pulled herself back up in her seat, all traces of mirth gone. "We have another Rebellion on our hands Upstairs. I was wondering if anything was going on in Hell."

Damien frowned and resumed his human form. "Yeah." He materialized a pack of cigarettes and ignored the girl's pitiful sobbing. "We have a revolt. Some of the lesser demons." He sighed impatiently. "Are the floorboards really THAT interesting, Crowley?"

"Yes," Crowley responded, his voice muffled against the floor. He slowly pushed himself into a crouch, brushing dust out of his hair. "Is this another one of HIS hairbrained schemes?"

"Yes," Damien admitted readily. "He's a lot stupider than people think."

The girl wiped tears from her eyes. "If he's so stupid, then how come he's managed to hold Hell for all these centuries?"

"Because he's as powerful as fuck," Damien said calmly, and lit his cigarette.

The girl stared at him, her eyes huge and bloodshot and magnified by her thick glasses. "And you called HIM a blasphemer?" she snapped, gesturing at Crowley.

"That was sarcasm, dear," Loki mumured. "Blasphemy against God, not Satan."

Aziraphale stirred in his sleep and let out a pained sound. Crowley was by his side without even thinking. If he had thought, he wouldn't have moved, as he would have realized that he was in the presence of one of Hell's highest ranking demons, and comforting an angel in pain might have looked a little - well, undemonic.

But none of this crossed Crowley's mind. Instead, he knelt by Aziraphale's side and stroked his hair, murmuring soothingly in the angel's ear. Aziraphale quieted, and Crowley looked up to realize that three pairs of eyes were on him. Loki's were wide and gentle, the human's were confused, and Damien's were covered by shades.

Now Crowley realized why his sunglasses irritated Aziraphale so much. The shades completely hid Damien's expression. Not that he'd probably had one to begin with. Crowley realized this was probably NOT a good sign. Of course, he shouldn't have moved. Now someone might realize how close he and the angel were, the fact that they practically lived in each other pockets, how much he lo -

Crowley promptly seized what was left of that thought and booted it out his right ear. If he knew anything about the demons of Hell, Damien was poking around in his mind right now, looking for a weak spot, something he could use against his fellow demon. Hel- Heav- For SOMEBODY'S sake, Crowley would have done the same thing, had he the power.

Damien tilted his head to the side and regarded Crowley with shielded eyes. Crowley returned the gaze defiantly. This pose was somewhat dampened by the fact that he kept stroking Aziraphale's hair.

Loki cleared her throat pointedly. "That's enough, boys," she said tiredly. Crowley opened his mouth. "Crowley, I swear, if you say anything, I will be forced to bring up Korea."

"I already knew about that," Damien said. "Crowley's orders came from me."

"And I followed them to the letter," Crowley muttered.

Loki snorted. "Right," she muttered, and went off in search of Sarelil.

Damien took a long drag off his cigarette. "I know you didn't, Crowley," he said drily. "You'll have to forgive me if I don't give a damn."

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale. "Enough men died cursing God, on both sides," he said finally. "They didn't need my help. I had to get them out of there." He looked up at Damien, or past him, or perhaps even through him. "They believed."

"They had FAITH?" Damien said disbelievingly. He pulled off his sunglasses, and his eyes glowed green in the dimness of the bookshop. "You saved them because they had faith in GOD?"

"No," Crowley said. He was still touching Aziraphale, stroking his hair, his back, his shoulders. Hiis fingers sifted through the feathers of the angel's wings, neatening them. "I saved them because they had faith in me."

Damien stared at him in silence for a moment, then raised his glass in what looked suspiciously like a toast. "Out of all of us, you were always the most angelic."

Crowley looked away, mentally trying to figure out if that was an insult or not. Eventually he shrugged. Aziraphale would probably say it was ineffable. "I didn't mean to Fall."

Damien laughed, a slightly ironic sound. "None of us did." He drained his glass. "Lucifer made it sound so easy, didn't he? Just wave the swords around and the entire Host of Heaven would just surrender."

Crowley was still looking at Aziraphale. "I know." He glanced up sharply, his yellow eyes going huge. "I mean -"

The senior demon waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter, Crowley." He looked down at Aziraphale and slipped his shades back over his eyes. "This does, however."

Crowley froze, his hands stilling in Aziraphale's feathers. "What do you mean?"

Damien boosted himself up on the counter and materialized a bottle of tequila. "Fraternizing with the Enemy, Crowley. And you can't even claim that you were tempting him to Fall, because you've been supposedly working on it for six thousand years."

One hand smoothed Aziraphale's wing and he started to work on the other one. "I don't want him to Fall. He's - I don't know what he is, but I don't want him to Fall."

Damien looked at him for a long moment. A number of expressions crossed his face. He'd had more expressions in the last day and a half than he had in the previous three thousand years. All together. He looked revolted, then shocked, then disgusted, and then he finally collapsed into hysterical laughter. He laughed so hard he fell off the counter.

Crowley clenched his teeth. His fangs bit into his lower lip, but he didn't notice. Aziraphale let out a small pained sound as Crowley's fingers clenched in his feathers. He forced himself to relax and smooth the ruffled feathers. "Dare I ask what's so funny?" he asked. He wiped the blood off his lower lip, and absently healed the cuts. Luckily, small wounds weren't a problem. Unfortunately, for the big ones, he always needed angelic healing. Fortunately, he had an angelic friend.

Absently, he went back to stroking Aziraphale's hair. Damien boosted himself back up on the counter, and he was snickering. Crowley just glared. "You do know that if Lucifer would do to you if he found out that you're in love?"

Crowley snarled at him. "I do not love Aziraphale," he snapped.

Damien waved a hand. "I didn't ask if you were lovers. I know you're not. Any kind of love is the closest thing to a sin we have in Hell, you know that. Some of us Fell for love, Crowley." He took a long pull off his tequila. "You know how that happened."

"And I know what you Fell for!" Crowley snapped.

Damien went very still. He slowly set down the bottle.

Crowley went back to looking down at Aziraphale. "How DARE you criticize me for feeling the same things you felt? Why is it such a sin to have friends?"

There was a moment of stillness. The bottle behind Damien exploded. And then he was gone.

111

Loki nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the bottle explode downstairs. Next to her, Sarelil botched his landing and fell on his arse. The two of them shared a shocked look, winched in their wings, and bolted downstairs.

Loki looked around the room with wide eyes. There was glass and tequila all over the floor and the counter. The girl was curled up in one corner, looking absolutely terrified. Crowley had his face buried in one of Aziraphale's wings. Aziraphale was still unconcious.

"What the hell happened?" Loki demanded.

"Ngk," was all Crowley managed.

"Where's the other one?" Sarelil asked. "The other demon?"

"Mmph," Crowley said.

Sarelil and Loki exchanged another glance. "Bit of an issue?" Loki asked gently.

"Grk," Crowley said.

Sarelil moved over to the girl curled up in the corner. He began speaking in a low, gentle voice, urging her out of her hiding spot. She was frantically shake her head, chanting something that sounded like "No, no he might come back, he might come back."

Loki covered her face with her hands and mentally cursed God. But quietly.

She wondered if the approach Sarelil was using on the girl would work on Crowley. Probably not, but there was nothing wrong with wishful thinking.

The angel walked slowly over to him, wishing she were anywhere but where she currently was. Of course, an angel wishing too hard will land them with exactly what they wished for, so she tried to keep it down. She crouched down next to the demon, who still had his face in the other angel's wing feathers. "Camael?" she said, and laid a hand gently on one of his smoke-stained wings. "Camael, what happened."

"M'd'd," was the feather-muffled reply.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki replied gently.

Crowley lifted his face. "I'm dead," he said dully. "Damien's going to kill me."

Loki sat down and stretched her legs out in front of her. "What happened?"

Crowley snorted. "I reminded him of the reason he Fell," he said shortly. "He looked through my head, laughed, and told me that it was the closest thing th - we have to a sin in Hell, and that I was going to be punished for it, and then I reminded him of why HE Fell, and then the bottle blew up and he bailed. Yes, it was beautiful."

Then he buried his face back in Aziraphale's wing.

Loki sighed. "Great." She stood back up and arched her back, popping her spine. These human forms had all sorts of issues. "You DO know why he Fell, right?"

Loki took the sound he made for a yes. Crowley raised his face from the wing and raked his black hair out of his eyes. "Whatever happened to her?" he asked after a while. "I know...well, I heard that she tried to stay in contact with him after the Fall, and that's why he's...like he is."

Loki turned her face away. "She was destroyed," she said softly. "It wasn't my Judgement. I never Judged any of the Fallen, or those who were destroyed after the Rebellion." She sniffed, and Crowley realized the shine in her eyes wasn't the usual holy-angel-halo-reflection bit, but tears.

He shifted uncomfortably. Demons don't do well around crying angels. He'd learned THAT a long time ago.

Loki stood up quickly, wiping her eyes. "We need to get Aziraphale upstairs," she said shortly. "Can you carry him?"

Crowley nodded and stood, gently gathering the sleeping angel to him. "Lead the way."

A few moments later, Aziraphale was safely tucked into his bed, Crowley up against the wall, arms folded over his chest, looking uncomfortable. Loki was fussing over him, double-checking everything to make sure his wounds would heal and all that.

"Can you stay with him?" she asked suddenly.

Crowley stared at her. "What?"

Loki looked up, brushing hair out of her eyes. "He needs a familiar presence. You're about it."

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, his wings furling tightly around his shoulders. "What do I do?"

She smoothed Aziraphale's hair and kissed his brow. "Just stay with him. Sleep next to him, keep him comfortable." She looked at him and lightly touched his face. "No matter what they say in hell, friendship is no sin. Not even with an angel." A gentle smile. "Not even with a demon." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Take care of him, Camael." And then she vanished down the stairs.

The demon took a deep breath and crawled into bed next to the angel. For a while, he lay there, watching Aziraphale, as if afraid the angel would vanish if not watched closely. Then his eyes slipped closed, and he drifted off to sleep next to his friend.

TBC...


	3. Meetings With The Highers Ups And Lower ...

Aziraphale had never woken up beside someone before. In fact, he had very rarely SLEPT before. He remembered the attack from before, and figured the warm presence at his side was one of his fellow angels.

And then he opened his eyes, looking straight into Crowley's yellow ones.

And then he was across the room.

Crowley looked vaguely irritated by this. "Don't worry, angel," he said, a distinct hiss in his voice. "I didn't take advantage of you while you were asleep." Pause. "I'd at LEAST wait until you were awake so you could slap me."

Aziraphale gulped.

Crowley made a disgusted noise and stood. HIs feathers were ruffled, his hair was standing on end, and his eyes were still slightly out of focus. "I wouldn't DO that," he snapped. "Why does everyone seem to think I would DO that?"

Aziraphale shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, my dear, I just...wasn't expecting you."

Crowley snorted and climbed out of bed. Aziraphale quickly spun around. Dear LORD, didn't the demon have CLOTHES?

Another irritated sigh. Aziraphale realized, flinching, that he seemed to be annoying the demon more than usual this morning. "I'm dressed, angel," he muttered, and Aziraphale peeked over his shoulder. The demon wore a pair of black pants, apparently too exhausted to winch in his wings and resume his human form. He noted with interest that the demon's skin seem to be spotted with scales. Well, that made sense. His first ...EARTHLY form had been that of a bloody great snake.

"Forgive me for asking, my dear...but why are you here?"

Crowley glared. Well, it was actually rather more of a pout. The effect, when combined with his sleep-tousled hair, was really rather adorable. Although Crowley would probably do something very similiar to smiting were he to mention this. So he didn't.

"Yeah, and you're welcome, too," he muttered. "I save your ass, and then you ask me what I'm doing here. So much for gratitude."

Aziraphale sighed, nervously tugging on his wing feathers. "No, my dear, that's not what I meant. I had honestly expected Loki to do something...rather, well, forceful."

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Nah," he said. "I think she kinda likes me, honestly. There's some big revolt happening in Heaven, which is why those bastards attacked you. She wants our help. By 'ours', I mean Hell's. Damien's here, too."

"Damien? You mean the Prince of Hell, the one who wanted to rip your wings off?"

"Yeah, that's him." Crowley winced. He hoped Damien wasn't back. He really did like his wings. "He's one of the higher ups in Hell, you know that. Apparently, there's a revolt in Hell, too, some of the lower demons attempting to rise up against Lu - well, you know, HIM - and Satan's trying to conceive another child."

Aziraphale paused a moment, trying to figure out what the two things had to do with each other. And then the second statement hit him like a righteous lightning bolt. "ANOTHER child?" he asked, honestly shocked. "Wasn't one good enough?"

Crowley spread his hands in a helpless gesture. Aziraphale noticed uneasily that the hands ended in talons. "I don't get it either, angel," he confessed. "I keep getting the nasty feeling that we should start getting used to Heaven and Hell procreating at a ferocious rate."

Aziraphale considered this with distaste. "As long as they don't start asking US to do such things," he muttered.

Crowley wondered briefly if Aziraphale was talking about the procreating or the sex. He felt a brief flash of what could not have possibly been disappointment. It was brief, of course, because he firmly beat it about the head and shoulders and shoved it into a dark, locked closet in the farthest corner of his mind. "You never know, angel," he muttered, and stood. "We should probably go downstairs. Loki'll be able to explain things better than I would. Although," he added, with distaste, "I'm under strict orders to tell you that she has to take a look at your wings before you put them away. She wants to make sure they're completely healed, or something."

Aziraphale nodded absently, trying to find clothes. It was then that he realized he wasn't wearing any. He stared at Crowley for a long moment, then blushed. Bright red.

The demon smirked at him, and looked him over from head to toe. "Not bad, angel. Not bad at all." And then he was out the door.

1111

Crowley was starting to think he should have stayed upstairs. Even the righteous smiting of an enraged, embarrassed angel would have been better than this. What was before him was one of the most horrifying things he'd ever seen. And he'd seen HELL. Literally.

One of the highest ranking demons in Hell was sitting at Aziraphale's kitchen table, with one of the highest ranking angels in Heaven. There were cards spread across the table in front of them. They were apparently having a very amiable conversation about which was better, 'Alien' or 'Predator.'

And from there it just got WEIRD.

"Got any twos?" Damien asked casually.

"HA!" Loki said. "Go fish!"

Sweet Heav - He - FUCK, there was a Prince of Hell and a seraphim at the kitchen table, playing Go Fish.

Maybe when he hadn't been looking, Hell had frozen over entirely, and not just the road to it. (Which, as we all know, is paved with frozen door-to-door salesmen.)

Damien swore and pulled a card out of the spread in the middle of the table.

Crowley was frozen in the doorway. The girl, Satan's future...future whatever, was passed out on the uncomfortable couch. Crowley could admit from experience that she was going to wake up with a nasty crick in her neck. Sarelil, Loki's little trainee, was working his way passed 'ragingly drunk' into 'unconcious' or at least trying his damnedest. The demon had never seen anyone, human, angel, demon, or other, drink with such determination.

"Something wrong, Crawly?" Damien asked, putting a particular emphasis on Crowley's demon name that would have pissed Crowley off, had Damien been any one but who he was. As it was, it irritated him mildly.

"This," he said, gesturing at the whole scene, "is the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen."

Loki looked vaguely reproving at his choice of language. "Is Aziraphale awake?" she asked, staring intently at her cards. "Any threes?"

Damien swore again and passed it over. She smirked and laid four of a kind out on the table. Crowley tried to ignore this and think of something less terrifying, like Satan's wife on a bad tentacle day. Instead, he thought of the angel's reaction at not having any clothes. And smirked. Unpleasantly. With a mouthful of unusually sharp teeth. "He's awake."

Loki looked up, took in his expression, and sighed. "Oh, je - go - CRAP, Crowley, what did you do?"

Crowley's smirk grew, if at all possible, even more unpleasant. "Nothing. It's not MY fault he forgot he was naked."

Loki groaned. Sarelil fell off his chair. Damien simply raised an eyebrow, which was, for him, an excess of expression.

"Why was he naked?" Loki demanded, glaring at the demon.

Crowley shrugged. "It's not comfortable to rest in clothes in our natural forms," he replied, and then grinned at her, rather evilly. "You SAID to keep him comfortable."

"I should've known that would come back to bite me in the ass," the angel mused.

"Yes," Damien said, "you really should have. Tell me, dear sister, you haven't forgotten that you were dealing with demons, have you?"

"Sister?" Crowley and Sarelil exclaimed at the exact same moment. Although not in the exact same manner. There were a few extra s's in Crowley's exclamation, while Sarelil's was rather slurred. They may have started at the same moment, but they ended at entirely different moments.

"Of course," Loki said absently. "We were Created at the same time."

It had always irritated Crowley, the way angels said the word 'Created.' Like the capital was just so bloody obvious.

"Besides," Damien added, like this was also very obvious, "all angels are related, and, by inference, so are all the Fallen."

"So, technically, you're my brother as well," Loki concluded. She smiled, a small, secret, angelic smile. "But we won't get technical."

Crowley really, really hated angels. All of them. Fallen or otherwise.

Aziraphale chose that moment to enter the room. He had forgone a shirt, as well as combing his hair or straightening his wing feathers. He looked sleep-tousled and rather cute.

Crowley hated him, too.

Loki promptly dissolved into laughter. Damien had another almost-expression.

Crowley hated demons, too. Actually, it was pretty safe to say that he hated everyone.

Sarelil chose that moment to hit the floor with a rather dramatic thud.

Loki managed to tone her laughter down to the occasional giggle or snort. Which weren't very angelic noises, Crowley noted snidely to himself. She started bustling around Aziraphale like a mother hen, checking his wounds and wings. "Crowley, could you get me a glass of water?"

"No," the demon muttered in response.

Aziraphale sighed. "Please, my dear? The sink is right behind you."

Crowley almost did it, at the slightly pleading note in Aziraphale's voice. But Damien's expression stopped him. Well, not expression, really. The slight tilt of the Prince's head stopped him. It was that slight head-tilt that made him realize Damien's dislike of him had gone beyond dislike into a full-scale hatred.

The demon didn't move, just stared right back at Damien's sunglasses. Loki and Aziraphale exchanged a nervous glance, but he ddn't see it. He also didn't see Loki manifest some Holy Water and set about putting the finishing touches on Aziraphale's wounds. For a long while, the demons just regarded each other, Crowley's fear was partly covered by the thought that if Damien's attention was on him, it wasn't fixated on the angel.

I really am almost angelic, Crowley thought with disgust. But Aziraphale was his friend, and there was no reason for Damien's attention to fall on him. Aziraphale had done nothing wrong, but that wouldn't matter to Damien, because Damien was a nasty fucker by habit. After another long, LONG moment, a slight smile flickered across Damien's mouth. It twisted his face in strange and frightening ways, as if it was not a face made for smiling. It wasn't. It was a brief expression, as if the smile had found somewhere more healthy to be.

"You are stronger than you look, Crawly," the Prince of Hell said, fingers rifling through his cards calmly. He leaned forward in his chair. "When the time comes, that won't matter."

"No, Lord," Crowley agreed. "But when that times comes, you won't get the satisfaction you want."

Damien's head tilted again. The smile was back, looking like it would really rather be elsewhere. "Really," he drawled slowly, his faint English accent making the word sound so...harmless. But so full of warning and hatred that Crowley's skin tried to crawl away and hide.

Crowley smiled. It was even more unpleasant than the earlier smirk. His teeth gleamed in the dim light, like reflections of a distant nightmare. He leaned forward in the same conspiratorial manner. "Because," he whispered. "You won't get your vengeance, Lord. Not against Heaven, not against God, not against whoever took HER away from you." The smile got wider, and, if possible, even more unpleasant. "You will never have your vengeance, and that, if nothing else, gives me a reason to keep going. To think that you, a Prince of Hell, terrifying in your power and in your madness, will never have revenge against those who broke you. I hope when you realize it, I'm there to see it. Just because it makes me all warm and tingly."

He walked over and seated himself next to Aziraphale, keeping out of reach of the Holy Water.

"That was stupid," Loki muttered. "Brave, but ultimately stupid."

Crowley took Aziraphale's hand, allowing his fingers to weave through the angel's. "I know," he admitted. "But it was the truth." Crowley realized with a kind of detached amazement that he was shaking. Not with fear, but with anger. And not against Damien, he realized with a start, an almost physical jolt.

Against Heaven.

It was not the vague, shapeless rage that consumed every demon. It had a shape, a purpose, a power all it's own. He looked at Damien, saw the Prince staring back at him with no expression. He realized that one day, when all of this was over, and if their paths crossed again, Damien would destroy him. Absolutely, without a thought beyond that moment. Because Crowley had brought back the pain of being Exiled, of being cast out, of losing that which he had sworn his Eternity to.

The other angel. The FEMALE angel. Crowley couldn't remember her name now, and he supposed it didn't matter. Damien had enough memories of it for both of them, he was sure. And by now Crowley couldn't even remember why HE had left, although he still remembered that it had been his choice. And for him, at least, it hadn't been so much of a Fall as a vague downward motion, something of his own decision.

He hadn't realized until now how lucky he'd been.

Humans had a saying. It wasn't the fall that killed you, it was hitting the ground that really did it.

They were wrong.

It WAS the Fall that killed you. Maybe not your body, maybe not even your spirit, but in some cases your mind was a definite casuality.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Suddenly, it seemed very necessary.

"We've been in contact with Heaven," Loki murmured. "They said that there's some humans on Earth with a book of prophecy that might be able to help us out. Someone named Agnes Nutter."

Crowley opened his eyes, noting that Damien was still staring at him. Crowley had the sudden urge to jump up and start screaming that it wasn't his fault, he hadn't wanted to Fall either, Hell, now he couldn't even remember why he HAD. He hadn't taken her away from Damien, he hadn't destroyed her, NONE of this had been of his making.

He didn't. But he though it very hard, and very loud, and very much in the other demon's direction.

"Her name's not actually Agnes Nutter," Aziraphale was saying. "Well, that WAS the prophetess's name, but she died a very long time ago. Her descendant's name is Anathema Device. She lives in Tadfield. It's about forty miles from here."

Damien turned slowly to look at the angel. Crowley's grip tightened on Aziraphale's hand. "That's where the Antichrist is," the demon said absently. He was shuffling his cards with one hand. Human fingers just did NOT bend like that.

Loki looked at him, and Crowley could tell that, perhaps just this once, she was grateful for the smoked lenses. It meant she couldn't see what was going on in Damien's glowing red eyes.

Or what WASN'T.

Crowley decided that it was more what WASN'T in Damien's eyes than what WAS. He decided that Damien's sanity had taken a vacation about six thousand years ago and just forgotten it was supposed to come back.

"So do we go see Newt and Anathema or what?" Crowley demanded.

Loki started to look nervous. Damien looked vaguely amused and leaned back in his chair, apparently very relaxed. Crowley wished that he had, at some point, learned to keep his mouth shut. He wondered vaguely if it was possibly for him to learn to shut up.

"That would be a what, actually," Loki said, almost apologetically. Crowley noticed that she very firmly wasn't looking at him. "There's to be a meeting. Us - ALL of us, even you two - with the Metatron, and Beelzebub."

Crowley winced. The voice of Satan HATED him. More than he hated everybody else, even. "Oh, this should be fun," he muttered. "When?"

"They should be here soon," Damien responded, in the same calm, distant way Damien did everything that didn't involve him directly.

Aziraphale paled. "That Voice of Satan is coming to my bookshop?"

Loki looked concerned. "Oh, dear," she murmured, and the air turned slightly blue with unspoken profanities. Crowley was impressed. He certainly couldn't do that. Of course, he spoke his profanities out loud. "That's an awful lot of fire in one place."

"Dear lord, I do hope they tone it down," Aziraphale said. "It would certainly be difficult to rebuild my bookshop AGAIN."

"I'm more worried about all of my parts," Crowley muttered.

Loki made an embarassed little noise.

Crowley and Aziraphale both turned to stare at her. She looked a little nervous. "Um, actually...neither one of them can touch you. Any of us."

"Why?" they asked at the exact same time. Six thousand years of association had more or less put their minds on the same wavelength. They were both suspicious of relatively good news. Mainly because bad news usually followed.

Loki looked extremely embarrassed, and gave Damien a nervous look. "God has placed us under His protection for the duration."

Damien sat up straight and said something that would've made Hastur and Ligur blush, it was so obscene. And you probably couldn't do that with a brookstick, anyways. It sounded very uncomfortable. There was an unearthly red glow coming from behind his sunglasses, and his fangs were a little more noticeable than they had been before. "He did WHAT?"

Loki winced. "It's not like I asked Him to," she snapped. She was suddenly glowing. Not bright, blinding glowing, but still pretty obvious. Crowley realized with a start that she was almost as scary as Damien. "He does these things all on His own, you know."

Damien snarled and made another obscene comment about exactly what God could do with His protection. Loki and Aziraphale both looked positively scandalized.

Crowley, on the other hand, was quite impressed. Who knew you could get THAT creative with the English language?

Loki had opened her mouth to reply a bright beam of light fell from the ceiling and the wooden floor started to bubble. Aziraphale looked more nervous about the bubbling floor than anything else. Wood doesn't usually bubble.

And then there stood Beelzebub and the Metatron, both glaring at each other. Loki rolled her eyes.

"Are you ready for this, Angel of Judgement?" the Metatron asked.

"And what of you, Prinze of Hell?" Beelzebub said.

Loki nodded serenely. Damien made a rude gesture. Whether it was directed at Beelzebub or the Metatron was impossible to tell.

"Would you likezz to repeat thatz, Damien?" Beelzebub said ominously.

Damien grinned at him and repeated the gesture. "No problem," he said cheerfully. Well, as cheerfully as he ever was.

It was sad when even the Voice of Satan didn't question you twice on something because HE was afraid of you, too.

They both drew up to their full heights. "It is the request of our Lord, the One True God, that those gathered here find those at fault for the revolts in both His Divine Realm and The Kingdom Below."

"They have met andz Our Dark Lord Luzzifer Agreez to thiz az well," Beelzebub...buzzed.

Those gathered just stared. "That's IT?" Crowley said incredulously.

Suddenly, there was another presence. Or, more accurately, a Presence. A Divine Light filled the entire bookshop.

Every angelic or demonic being in the building resumed their natural forms, unable to hold their human forms in that Presence. Crowley let out a peircing, sharp cry of pain, doubling over, eyes squeezing shut against the pain. Damien hissed, wings bursting from his back, hands becoming taloned, fangs growing. Sarelil regrained conciousness with a start as the alcohol left his system. His wings burst free and he came scrambling to his feet, halo bursting into view. For a long moment, the sound of rustling feathers and demonic screams filled the room.

Eventually, Crowley's screaming subsided to labored breathing, and his eyes were huge. It took him a moment to realize that he was more or less out of view of the Divine Presence. Aziraphale was on his feet, wings slightly spread, sheilding Crowley from the worst of the glare. Damien was crouched on the floor by the table, teeth bared, and his sunglasses gone. His eyes glowed malevolently. He looked very, very angry.

"You shield the demon from me, my angel?" God asked.

Crowley hissed. That bastard didn't have the right to call Aziraphale that. As far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale was HIS angel. Not in that way, of course, but where had God been during the Apocalypse? Where had God been when Aziraphale had been having his crisis of Faith in the fourteenth century? Where had God been when Aziraphale needed him?

Aziraphale said nothing. He did not, however, move.

God took a step forward. Crowley glanced up, saw a vague female form, then buried his face against his knees. Great. Not only was he probably about to be destroyed for tempting one of God's angels, he was going to be destroyed by a chick.

One glowing hand gently stroked Aziraphale's face. "Why do you care so much for him, Aziraphale?" the sweet, feminine voice asked. "He is naught but a demon."

Crowley hissed again. One of Aziraphale's hands reached for him, and he clutched at it, the only lifeline he had to what he really was. "He is much more than that, Lord," Aziraphale said softly. "He is my friend."

Crowley felt the wise, ancient gaze sweep the room. Damien let out a snarl as it landed on him. "And what of you, Azhaliel?" She asked.

"Don't call me that." His voice was deeper, rougher, sounding like it was emerging from the deepest pits of Hell. Basically, it was.

God tilted Her head to the side, regarding him with sad eyes. "It is your Name, Azhaliel, the one I gave you at your Creation."

Damien's back bowed under that gaze, under the Presence. His head fell forward. He made a choked noise, almost a sob.

"Do you weep, Azhaliel?" God asked.

Damien through his head back, looking at God with bright, empty eyes. "Weep? Oh, no, my Lord. Lady. Whatever. I don't weep. I can't. You took that. You took my tears when you took my place in Heaven, my name, and my reason."

"I did not wish for this," God said sadly.

Damien started to laugh. He threw back his head and laughed so hard he had to fall down. "You didn't WISH for this?" he said, laughingly. "You're all-powerful, right? Why didn't you STOP him?"

"Ineffable," Aziraphale murmured. For once, there wasn't the usual reverence in his voice. There was just...nothing. It was flat, dark, empty, a statement of fact rather than reverence of the Divine Plan.

God turned back to Aziraphale. "Do you question me, Aziraphale?"

"No, Lord," he murmured.

And the sad thing was, Crowley realized, was that he didn't. He didn't question. He knew, and that was what bothered him. He knew that it was ineffable, unchanging, that it was the purpose. It was the ultimate disappointment.

The Presence seemed saddened, and that sadness weighed on everyone there. Loki let out a little gasp and tears began to roll down her face. Sarelil fell to his knees under the weight of it. Crowley hissed, Damien snarled, and the girl rolled over in her sleep. She seemed to be crying. The one least affected, oddly enough, seemed to be Aziraphale. He merely closed his eyes against it.

"You have rejected Me," God said sadly, to Aziraphale.

"No, Lord," Aziraphale said.

"I can feel your disappointment in Me," She said.

Crowley let out a warning hiss and tugged on Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale merely opened his eyes and bowed his head. "It is not disappointment, Lord. I merely...I wonder."

"You question." There was an edge in God's voice now, a dangerous edge.

Crowley released an angry hiss. "Of COURSSSE he quesstionss," he hissed. "He quesstionss, I quesstion, Loki quesstions, Sssatan guesstions, Damien quesstionssss, the humanss quessstion, everybody bloody quesstionsss. If you were them, you'd quessstion too."

He felt God's eyes land on him. He tried to muster up a glare, and failed. He dropped his eyes and doubled over in pain. He managed to talk somehow between clenched fangs. "How can you exsspect them not to quesstion? Nothing you ever do makess any bloody ssssensse. You threw some of your people out of Paradisse, you let your children be exssiled from Eden, and you're a giant pain in the ASSSSS."

Aziraphale sighed, a long, martyred sigh. But he squeezed Crowley's hand. "I have spent six thousand years on Your Earth, Lord. I have seen the humans do utterly horrible things to each other in your name. I have seen people martyred for the most ridiculous things. I have seen fathers murder their children, husbands murder wives. All in your name, Lord, and I have never seen any sign from you that this is what you want. And yet I have seen them do the most wonderful things, show such marvellous compassion, also in your name. Tell me, Lord, which is part of your plan?"

God sighed and touched his face gently. "Some of it, and none of it. They have taken such advantage of their free will, Aziraphale, and that is what I wished. For them to be free." She sighed, and stepped away. "Why must you question?" She asked sadly. "It is such questions that have led to these Rebellions." She turned to Crowley. "Does My Presence hurt you so, Camael?"

"Yess," Crowley hissed in response. "And it'sss Crowley."

God sighed. "You have taken away the Names I gave you," She said sadly. "I had thought them such lovely Names."

"Perhaps not suitable for such an unlovely place as Hell, Lord," Loki said. She kept her head bowed, but her expression was troubled.

They were getting to her. Crowley flickered his forked tongue out, tasting the air. Breathing burned. All that Holiness in the air wasn't good for a demon. He felt like if he breathed it much longer he'd start melting, like he'd inhaled Holy Water.

"Get me out of here," Crowley hissed, pressing closer to Aziraphale. The angel's hand dropped onto Crowley's hair, stroking gently.

The Metatron's eyes followed the gesture. "Such tenderness to a demon," it said, it's voice expressionless.

"He saved my life," Aziraphale said flatly. "The life of an angel, and his Enemy. Does that not deserve tenderness?"

The Metatron's beautiful, blank eyes did not leave Crowley's huddled form. "No."

Loki's head jerked up, her long braids hitting her in the face. Sarelil looked stunned. Damien's response was unique - not one of shock, but of disgust. He spit at the Metatron's feet as if the angel's presence left a nasty taste in his mouth.

"My Lord? May I speak?"

Every eye in the room turned to Sarelil. The young angel looked desperately like he'd rather be anywhere else in Existence, up to and including the deepest pits of Hell. He looked deeply contemplative for a moment, without loosing the expression of desire to be elsewhere. "I have seen the Demon Crowley fight two angels, armed with blessed swords that could easily destroy him in combat. I have seen him face down a Prince of Hell. Few angels would do these things. And yet a demon risked all, for the sake of friendship. Can any of us say the same?"

For one brief, insane moment, Crowley wanted to laugh. Here was an ANGEL, an angel not Aziraphale, standing up for him, not just to other angels, but to the Metatron itself and GOD. And Loki looked so proud she might have burst had she not held herself back.

"None of us would choose to befriend a demon," Metatron said. There was still absolutely no inflection in it's voice. It was starting to irritate Crowley.

Loki cleared her throat. "I have."

Now all eyes turned to her. It was a room full of revolving eyes.

Damien arched one eyebrow at her. Crowley muttered something sarcastic about all the expressions.

"I have," Loki said softly. "I consider Damien a friend, even if he is a Prince of Hell." She shrugged. "He was my brother once, Lady. He still is my brother. Nothing, not even the Fall, can change that. I love him as I did the day we were Created. He is my friend."

God turned to Damien. He met her ancient, wise gaze with his burning red eyes. "What of you, Azhaliel? Do you still love Loki?"

Damien smiled, a small ironic smile. "I wouldn't know," he said drily. "You took that, too."

God frowned, then shook her head. "This is not why we are here," She said serenely. "What has happened can not be changed. We need to stop these Revolts. I fear it falls on you."

"Naturally," Damien muttered.

God ignored this. "Lucifer has agreed to this."

Crowley's slightly scaly eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. When he spoke, his voice was raspy and silibant. "Ssssincce when are you and Lucccifer on ssspeaking termsss?" he hissed.

"Your Arrangement isn't the only one around," Damien said softly. His taloned hands were clenched into fists. His eyes seemed a little brighter, as well, Crowley noticed. The Holy Presence was getting to him, too.

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Well, that explains quite a bit," he murmured.

Metatron and Beelzebub were both gaping at God. She just smiled serenely. "You will be armed, of course," She said, and made a gesture at the Voices. Beelzebub swore at Her. She smiled serenely in reply. The Metatron retrieved a sword from - somewhere.

It paused, then passed it to Aziraphale. It did not look happy. "I trust you still remember how to use this, Angel of the East Gate?" it asked snidely.

"I'm sure," Aziraphale said serenely. Crowley hissed a bit spitefully at that. He'd ended up on the wrong end of the angel's fiery sword on more than one occasion, back in the Garden.

"You're forgetting, Metatron, how high Aziraphale is in the Host," Loki said sharply. She drew her own sword.

Beelzebub reluctantly drew two swords out of...somewhere. Really, the similiarities between the two of them were frightening. The only difference between the two were the color of the flames and the fact that Beelzebub buzzed when he talked. Crowley had never figured out why.

"Here," it buzzed, shoving a black sword at Damien. "For you, Prinze of Hell. And, thiz, Crowzley, is for you."

Crowley hesitantly took his own sword. He was not a particularly good fighter. He preferred vanishing, if it was an option. Or running away. And if those two were out, he was usually inconventiently discorporated.

Damien, however, held the sword like he knew exactly what to do with it. They were invented to kill, destroy, and, if those were out of the question, at least permanenetly maim. And the Prince of Hell looked like he could do all of them. And enjoy it.

Of course, Loki held her sword the same way, like it was what she was made for. Like SHE was made for the sword, and not the sword for her. Sarelil still looked like he didn't know what to do with it. And Aziraphale... the prudish, bookish, educated angel held the sword the same way Loki did, like it was an extension of himself.

Huh. Learn something new everyday about the guy you've known for...ever.

God clasped Her hands serenely at Her waist. "We believe they would have gone to Tadfield, to appropriate the book of prophecy in the care of the descendant. We believe that the angels might also attack the Anticrhist." She pointedly ignored Damien's rather pungent curse. She just smiled serenely and turned to the Angel of Judgement. "DO be careful, Loki," She said, and smiled again, this time almost wickedly. "Michael would be so disappointed were anything to happen to you."

And then She vanished. There was a pause, and then Loki called Her a rather nasty name. "Sorry, but you ARE," the angel finished.

The Metatron and Beelzebub glared at each other, then vanished as well.

Damien turned to Loki with an arched eyebrow. "So. You and Michael, eh?"

"No," Loki said shortly and glared.

Aziraphale smiled, almost wickedly. "Really, my dear. If he heard you say that - why, I think it would break his heart!"

Loki stared at him, open-mouthed and looking decidedly unangelic.

Aziraphale continued serenely, testing the sharpness of his blade. "You are so very cute together," he said.

Loki stared at him for another long moment. Then she turned to Crowley and pointed. "You," she said, speaking slowly, "are a horrible, horrible influence."

Crowley grinned at her, flashing long fangs. "Thank you."

Loki threw up her arms and stormed upstairs. "Let's go stop this so I can go home," she muttered.

"Michael's probably going mad by now," Sarelil said sadly, shaking his head.

They all stared at him. Then Crowley let out a hoot of laughter. "Who knew the baby angel had it in him?"

TBC...


	4. Antichrists And Angels

Flying felt good. It felt good to be able to stretch his wings out and just sail through the air currents, with the wind in his face and his angelic body comfortable around him.

Of course, it might have felt a lot better if he weren't on his way to save the Antichrist, a witch, a witchfinder, and three teenagers.

But it still felt good to fly.

"Damien! Stop tormenting Sarelil!"

Even with THAT happening every few minutes.

Crowley dove down next to him, wings brushing his. When the demon smiled at him, he had fangs. Bloody great fangs. But that was natural, as he was in his demonic form. "Ain't that beautiful?" he hissed.

"Argh!" said Loki.

Aziraphale politely hid a smile.

"DAMIEN!"

Crowley dissolved into laughter, nearly falling out of the air.

"HEY! Watch where you're waving that thing, kid!"

"SARELIL!"

"Get back, pain in my ass!"

"ARG!"

1111

Needless to say, the Antichrist wasn't hard to find, not when you had two demons with you. Especially since one was Hell's version of the radar.

Neatly, five supernatural beings tucked in their wings and dove. They landed neatly and looked around.

"Nice little neighborhood," Loki said drily.

Damien resumed his human form. He was, as usual, quite young, and rather demonic looking, and dressed like a cross between a punk and a gang member. He wore ridiculously expensive sunglasses, a long black trenchcoat, baggy black jeans, and a T-shirt that said 'One by One, the Penguins Steal my Sanity.' Loki took one look at this and dissolved laughing.

"Love the shirt," she managed finally.

"WHAT sanity?" Sarelil asked nastily.

Crowley's eyes rolled. He resumed his own favorite form easily, straightened his shades, and looked at the rest of them.

He had to admit one thing. The shades came in handy when you were sorrounded by angels. The halos were blinding. And his suit WAS stylish. And black, of course. And would have cost a small fortune, had he bought it. He gestured at the angels. "Are you going to run around like that all day? You'll petrify the locals?"

With a shrug, Sarelil took on a human form. It was exactly what Crowley would have expected. Young, fresh-scrubbed, and slightly geeky.He had glasses. Like Aziraphale wore, only slightly more stylish instead of the kind Ben Franklin would have worn. He wore blue jeans and a football jersey. He looked very American.

Aziraphale looked as he always did, tweedy and angelic. With his little Ben-Franklin-style specs. And Loki was young, angelically beautiful, and wearing a long white coat. She managed to look excessively angelic even in human form. The only thing that ruined the image were the giggles every time she looked at Damien.

The shirt amused her.

Behind them, a throat cleared. Five supernatural beings whirled around, hands going to sword hilts, hidden as they were.

Standing there was the Antichrist.

This is not to say he was frightening. Quite the opposite. He appeared to be an average, healthy, reasonably attractive sixteen-year-old boy. He had curly, golden hair, constantly falling into big blue eyes. He appeared very harmless.

Loki and Sarelil tensed even more. Crowley and Aziraphale did not relax, although they didn't tense any more, either. Damien, on the other hand, took his hand away from the hilt of his sword and managed a smile. "Hello, Adam."

The Antichrist smiled at him, the genuinely happy smile of someone seeing an old friend for the first time in ages. "Hallo, Damien. It's been a long time."

Damien nodded. "You grew."

Adam shrugged. "I'm mortal."

"So I heard."

Adam paused, looking unsure for probably the first time in his life. "Is, you know, is he...angry?"

Damien shrugged. "Hard to tell. He doesn't talk about it much." The Prince's head tilted. "But then, that's the way you engineered it."

Adam looked a little sheepish and shrugged. "Didn't really mean to. Just kinda happened that way when I put everything back together. Everythin' kinda changed, but stayed the same, y'know?" He nodded at Crowley and Aziraphale. "Like them."

"Huh?" said Crowley.

"I beg your pardon?" said Aziraphale.

Adam just smiled slightly, then turned to Loki. "Yer Loki, right? We have somebody here who I think you want to see." He turned and led away. Obviously expecting them to follow.

They exchanged glances, but what else could they do?

They followed.

1111

There was a wounded angel in Adam's bedroom.

That was, without saying, the last thing they had expected.

Loki let out a shocked little gasp. "Michael!"

Sarelil looked shocked, then amused as Loki rushed to his side and started unbuttoning his shirt. Aziraphale politely averted his eyes. Crowley smirked. Damien tugged off his sunglasses and gave them a mock-disapproving look. "Really, kids, is this really the time for that?"

Loki gave him a glare that would have melted both polar ice caps, with amps left over. Then her attention turned back to the angel on the bed. He was unconcious, and his hair was clotted with blood. He wasn't the usual angel, by an means. His hair was thick and black, a little long, but not like it was on purpose. More like he hadn't been paying attention enough to keep it from growing. Or, if he'd been human, like he hadn't had time to get a haircut. He was dressed in baggy blue jeans and a tight black shirt, and there was some sort of chain around his neck. Noteworthy simply because angels didn't usually wear jewelry.

Loki gently looked at his wounds, brushing back his shaggy hair with a tenderness that was almost frightening. Crowley raised his eyebrows. Some things angels just weren't allowed to do. One of them was to fall in love. They COULD love. In fact, they were created to. They were Created to Love everything and everyone, but God above all others. To fall in love would mean that God was no longer first in their hearts.

Angels had Fallen for that. It appeared that two more were fairly close to it.

Damien was looking at Loki with absolutely no expression. Michael let out a moan in his sleep and curled into her.

Damien shook his head and left the room. Loki didn't look up. "How was he wounded?"

"I think they were demons," Adam said. "They had black wings, at least. And black swords." He looked nervous. "I didn't think I could heal him. I mean, he's holy an' all, an' I Well, I'm really not. I thought it might hurt him."

Loki nodded. She placed her hand over the wound on his head. Her hand started to glow. Crowley and Adam winced, shielding their eyes. Aziraphale went to her side, lending an angelic hand in the healing process.

When Crowley was able to take his hands away from eyes, Loki had such a look of relief on her face that it was painful to see, even for a demon. Of course, love is usually painful for a demon. Explains why every time he was around Aziraphale, he got a raging headache. Of course, that could also have been the booze.

Michael cracked his eyes open slightly. He had angelic eyes, Crowley noted with distaste. You could always tell angels just by the color of their eyes. They were usually pastel, or glowy, or filled with the light of the stars, or some other cliche nonsense. He supposed that was why demons always had fiery eyes, red or orange or yellow. Sinister, like.

Michael's were a warm, sea green. When they turned on Loki, he managed a slight smile. "Hey, boss," he whispered, like everything hurt. "How's it going?"

Loki gently stroked back his hair, looking over where the wound had been. "What happened, Michael?"

He shifted, pushing himself into a sitting position. "They were demons," he said. "Nasty fuckers." He caught a glimpse of Crowley, and his eyes widened. "No offense, Crawly."

"Crowley."

"Right."

"Why?" Aziraphale asked.

Michael shrugged. "No offense to Cra Crowley, but do they really need a reason?"

"No," Crowley agreed, "but I guess they have one lately."

Michael frowned, his eyes turning back to Loki. "What's he talking about?"

As they fell deeper into conversation, both Crowley and Aziraphale noticed something. They kept inching apart, away from each other, and their language had taken on a distinctly formal air. Aziraphale looked confused. The last time he'd seen them, they'd been close. Good friends, always taking care of each other.

Now they were treating each other as strangers, nothing more than acquaintences who happened to have similiar occupations.

They came back to reality when Michael swore, rather profusely. Crowley's eyebrows nearly left his head. Adam looked impressed.

"Is that phys'cally poss'ble?" Adam asked Crowley quietly.

Crowley shrugged. "You wouldn't think so."

Michael snarled and rose to his feet. He was impressively tall, but most angels were. His hair hung in his eyes. He stumbled a little, straightened, and met Aziraphale's eyes. Crowley couldn't see them, but he knew the angel well enough to know what was in his eyes. Not pity, Aziraphale knew that Michael didn't deserve pity, but gentle understanding. After all, didn't Aziraphale tread as close to the edge?

Michael gave a small ironic smile. More self-mocking than anything else. He gestured for the door. "Shall we?"

Crowley swept one arm out. "After you."

Michael grabbed his coat from the end of the bed, and looked at Adam. "Thank you, Adam," he said softly. "You saved my life."

Adam shrugged. "I s'pose. It's just 'cause they can't touch me, y'see. I'm, well, y'know," he made a vague gesture downwards, "HIM."

Michael smiled at him and held out one hand. "Thank you."

Adam smiled shyly. "Yer welcome."

And the Son of Satan shook the hand of one of God's angels.

Crowley swore he felt the Earth move on it's axis. Aziraphale shot him a look. The angel's eyes were wide behind his specs.

Michael shrugged into his coat. "Well, guys? We have some Revolts to stomp out."

1111

Loki was in Hell. Not physically, but this had to be the next best thing. She Loved God, she really did, and she did not love Michael more. Nothing could take her devotion from God. It was just...he was so beautiful, and so close, and his smile did funny things to her insides.

If that wasn't love, she didn't bloody well know what love was. And since she was an angel, it was pretty obvious that she knew what love was. In a way, she WAS love. She had been Created out of love. Love more or less consituted her entire being. That main part of this love had been directed at God since her Creation. And the rest of that love had been directed at everything else. It was just...well, lately, a bit more than usual of that love had been directed at Michael.

Loki resisted the urge to find a blunt object and beat her head against it.

Angels Fell when they fell in love. Damien had done the same thing, and he had sided with Lucifer because he had thought that if Lucifer had won the revolt, he would have been able to be with her.

And now Loki was in the same bloody boat, minus the Rebellion and Lucifer.

She was so screwed.

At this exact moment, she was in a tree. Sarelil had went off to check in with the office. Aziraphale and Crowley were deep in conversation with Adam, discussing the Antichrist's reconstruction of the world. Basically, from what Loki heard, they were trying to understand how much he could find out just by using his mind.

She thought he could probably cover a lot of ground. Michael was sitting near them, his eyes half-closed and his expression intent. Damien caught her eye and stood.

She waited patiently, not moving as he hopped up into the tree next to her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Waste of money," she said drily. "It's not worth that much."

Damien tilted his head, regarding her with shielded eyes. "You're in love with him."

Her smile was small and ironic, much as Michael's had been earlier. "Is it that obvious?"

Her brother shrugged. "I've seen it before," he said softly. He reached into one of his black trenchcoat's multitude of pockets and pulled out his cigarettes. And Loki, seized by the impulsiveness that had gotten her punished so many times, held out her hand.

"Can I bum one of those?" she asked.

Damien looked at her again, took in her expression, shrugged, and handed her the one he had just lit. "Here, take this one. Don't touch the tip," he advised. "It's Hellfire."

She shrugged and took a deep drag, inhaling easily. The fact that it wasn't the first one she had ever smoked made it a great deal easier. Even angels kept secrets from God.

Damien looked down at his boots for a long moment. "Does he know?"

Loki winced. "He feels the same way."

He took another drag and tilted his head back, regarding the leaves over their heads with the same intense interest he'd used on his boots. He blew out three perfect smoke rings, saying nothing for a long moment. "Are you sure?"

She smiled, but without humor. "No, but I'm rather hoping, because if he doesn't, it really puts the kibosh on what we've been getting punished for."

Damien's head spun around to face her in a way that no human head would have been able to manage. It reminded Loki, rather uncomfortably, of the child in the movie 'The Exorcist.' The part where her head spin around just before she spit up pea soup. He gaped at her for a moment, reveealing long, glistening fangs that also made her very uncomfortable. "You didn't," he said, his voice closer to a low growl than a human voice.

Loki laughed, tilting her head back and blowing out smoke rings in the exact same way he had. It seemed like a vaguely demonic pose to Damien, but she was still angelic. The eyes gave it away. "Oh, we did. Whatever you're thinking of and possibly more. Now I understand why humans get their tongues peirced. It's...nifty."

Damien gaped at her for another second, then nearly fell out of the tree. "Oh, dear sister, I didn't know you had it in you." He gave her the definition of an evil smirk. "Pun intended."

Loki pushed him out of the tree.

break

When Crowley, Aziraphale, Michael, and Adam caught up with them, Damien was lying flat on his back on the grass, laughing like a lunatic. Loki dropped silently down next to him, stepped out her cigarette and turned to face them, expressionlessly. Michael narrowed his eyes at her. She met his gaze evenly. For a moment, there seemed to be a battle of wits going on.

For a moment, it seemed as if Michael's steady concern was making some kind of impression. But then Loki turned her back on him and bent to help her brother up.

All expression left Michael's face, and he straightened. Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances. This was really getting them nowhere.

"Uh, Anathema and Newt live in Jasmine Cottage, right down that way," Adam said, looking nervous. "I'll go with you, if you want."

Damien shook his head. "No, we don't want to seem too official." He brushed grass off his coat. "Or get your old man pissed at us."

Adam grinned at them. Dog was at his feet. It was looking at Damien with an intent expression, like he'd seen him before, but couldn't quite remember where. Damien crouched down and held one hand out to the miniature Hellhound. "Hi, there, Sparky," he said softly, drawing Dog closer. Dog let out joyous bark of recognition and scrambled onto Damien's legs, enthusiastically licking his face.

"I take it you two have met?" Loki said drily.

"Yeah," Damien said, scratching Dog behind the ears. "I have a lot to do with the Hellhounds."

Michael touched Loki's sleeve and drew her aside. "Loki, what's wrong? What's going on?"

Her gaze was steady as she met his eyes. "I think I'm going to Fall," was all she said.

Michael paled. "No. No, of course you're not! Why?"

Her laughter was sharp-edged. "For love, Michael. I've already fallen in love. What's a trip to Hell?" Then she pulled away and rejoined the others.

Aziraphale's eyes were filled with pain. He just touched her arm and nodded once. So close to the edge...

He knew the path she walked. Not the exact twists and turns, but he had a vague idea. She was going to Fall. It would not be as Crowley had, a vague, downward saunter for his own, vague reasons. It would be a short, fiery descent, and those who were near her when she landed would regret it.

He patted her hand in the most comforting way he could managed and prayed to God that he was wrong.

TBC...


End file.
